Sunday was the most surreal of my days in the hospital. The c-section was originally scheduled for 7:30am, but was bumped up to 9:30am. There was some waiting in the morning that felt like a lifetime. Eventually I was prepped and talked things over with the anesthesiologist. I had the option of being completely knocked out, as the baby’s health was no longer a concern. And I really didn’t want to hear what was going on in the OR (when the little man was born the surgeon had a med student with her. I overhead tasty tidbits like “and now you move her bladder over here” - with me thinking, “hey, that’s my bladder you’re talking about moving over there“) but I opted for a spinal block, plus heavy sedation. That way I was somewhat awake, but not totally lucid. The husband held my hand throughout the ordeal, and bore witness to my bizarre behavior. I vaguely recall some of it. At one point the surgeon was paged by his wife. He asked one of the nurses to call her back. The wife asked, via the nurse, whether or not he’d be making it to brunch. So I interjected “dude, you should get some hash browns.” Brilliant. After the surgery, when the spinal block was wearing off, my legs felt like giant blocks of styrofoam and I was feeling fuzzy, in general. Eventually I came out of it enough to see and hold Felix. I have no words for this. Not yet. But I am glad I was able to say goodbye to him. When I felt ready I was wheeled into a new room. Unfortunately one without wireless access, which made me feel like my lifeline, my connection to any sense of normalcy, had been severed. The weirdass morphine dreams didn’t help any either. After a few hours of the morphine, which made me feel queasy and crazy, I asked the nurse to stop the IV. I switched to some other painkillers that have done the trick, more or less. I must be pretty motivated to get back home, and to the internets, because I even forced myself to get up and about the first night…and was able to have the danged catheter removed as well. I probably took on too much too fast, though. Before I knew it I had an episode of Exorcist-style projectile vomiting. The poor husband. He isn’t very squeamish…usually. He even watched much of the surgery. But his achilles heel is anything to do with the puking. And he was standing pretty near my bed when my sudden need to eject came on. I gestured for the little bedpan thingie, which he handed to me before attempting to flatten himself against the opposite wall. What a mess that was. Oh well. Monday was a day of recuperating. My condition was upgraded - such that I was allowed to drink water with a straw. Exciting stuff. Also exciting, but not in a good way, my hemoglobin count dropped significantly after surgery, which means there is a possible need for a transfusion. I’ve had my morning blood draw today and my hemoglobin is still low, even after starting the iron supplements. Still waiting to see my doc and find out whether or not I need a transfusion. If not I might just be discharged today. I won’t be good as new, but at least I won’t be here.
Note: This post has come to you from a lovely hallway in this maze of a hospital. I talked one of the nurses into wheeling me around in a wheelchair, with my laptop fired up, looking for a wireless network I could hop on. It’s a less glamorous sort of wardriving, but hey, it worked.
